Ciao, Italia! Guten Tag, Deutschland!
by S80
Summary: Italy's full of questions that Germany sometimes can't answer. Germany has a few questions of his own that Italy can never answer. Ficlets for Germany/N.Italy
1. Why do you wear those, Germany?

**Author's Note:** The Hetalia love bug bit me before I even started reading. So, you could imagine what **canon** pairing just snatched up my attention... A little drabble series dedicated to the darling Italy and Germany. I will be using their country names, since that's how they're referred to in the series. Drabbles, yes. Each drabble will be some kind of question asked either by Italy or Germany. And hopefully I keep these short and sweet. This will be my first work of Hetalia fan ficiton~

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Germany was not dressed in his usual wartime attire, instead relaxed in a fitting black t-shirt and comfortable khaki trousers, sitting casually on the couch.

"Ne, Germany~ Can we go play soccer? It's nice outside..." Lifting his blue-eyed gaze from the pages of the book to the new company, Germany took notice of Italy's jacket already tied around his waist and a soccer ball under his arm. He went back to reading. "Maybe later," Germany grumbled, flipping to the next page with a small gleam of interest in his eyes. His glasses we're perched at the end of his nose, giving him a librarian look; if librarians were muscular, had slicked back blonde hair, and a perpetual frown.

Italy perked up at the possibility of a later game and smiled. He plopped down to the left Germany on the couch (causing the man to lean away a bit) then pulled his still boot-clad feet up and linked his arms around them, effectively huddling next to Germany. While the other country did not mind it all too much, he found it quite hard to concentrate with Italy's hair just under his nose. The aficionado of pasta liked to lean on him whenever given the opportunity. Germany flipped to the next page of his book after readjusting his glasses, but he couldn't actually _read_ the page as Italy stared at him in inquiry and went off into his verbal tic of 'Ve, ve, ve.'

"Why do you wear glasses when you read, Germany~?" Italy asked. He stared at Germany with his brown eyes, adding onto the blonde's luminescent blush. "Well, I wear them so I can see the words clearly. I'm far-sighted." Germany tried to pay attention to the new page now, but Italy had now shifted to stand on his knees and hands to stare at Germany's glasses. "Really? You can't see close to you?" About to answer, Germany had his mouth open, but a stutter escaped him instead when Italy gently pulled the glasses off his face. "Can you see me, Ger~many~?" A deeper blush filled the bridge between his cheeks; Italy was now resting an arm on the other side of his body, but his legs still remained on their knees. Germany blinked at Italy's proximity to his face, smelling the aroma of pasta sauce that always surrounded his fellow ally. Taking the silence as a negative, Italy pressed his nose to Germany's and grinned idiotically before asking again.

"How about now?" Germany secretly enjoyed how Italy's lips brushed his when he asked. Before long, he ran on an uncharacteristic impulse and gave Italy a savory peck on the lips with a tilt of his head. "Of course I can see you."

Italy pulled back to his spot next to Germany and leaned his head on the man's shoulder. The blonde replaced his glasses before continuing to read again. Again, he was stopped when Italy looked up and asked him in his childish voice, "It's later now, Germany. Can we go play soccer now?" Germany sighed and dog-eared the page he was on before closing the book. "Fine, let's go."


	2. Why do you hug me, Italy?

**Author's Note:** Thank you all for the reviews; they're very appreciated! It's been very hard to keep these short and sweet, since I enjoy writing very long drabbles, aha... Enjoy.

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After a backbreaking training session with Germany, Italy regained his breath and quickly scrambled over to his friend, wrapping his arms around Germany's torso and snuggling his face against his chest. "A goodbye hug for the captain~" Italy sang endearingly, not minding the fact that Germany's return of the gesture was more or less hesitant. He then pulled back and saluted in his cute way before turning on his heel to start for home.

"Italy, wait!" Germany had gained Italy's attention with the sudden command. The brunette turned around again and tilted his head, showing that he was giving Germany his full attention. "Ne, ne, what is it Germany?" Italy's voice was plagued with a slight anxiety; he was fearful that he had done something wrong or Germany had found out he skipped a few laps while his captain had taken a restroom break. Thinking Germany _did_ know, Italy raised his hands and his jaw opened widely as he pleaded for forgiveness. "I'm sorry, Germany! I'll run twice as many laps next time, just let me go home and have pasta~!!" The other nation was confused by this babbling for a second before his face snapped into one of anger. "You've been _what_--!?" He lost his temper quickly, still in captain mode, and stomped over to the now huddling Italy. His expression soon simmered down to a distant onlooker's gaze before he sighed and patted the sniffling pasta-loving nation on the back. "It's fine, just don't do it again," Germany mumbled.

"Now, I was about to ask you something," Germany retracted his hand slowly and his shoulders stiffened as he tried to maintain eye contact with Italy, who was now dabbing away his tears. "Why... do you always give me a goodbye hug? Is it an Italian thing?" Italy had succeeded in drying his tears and now looked at Germany with a curious expression complete with a questioning gape of his mouth. "I give hugs to Germany because I love him, of course!" Italy said this with such a wide smile on his face, Germany couldn't help but to advert his dejected blue eyes and to hope that Italy wouldn't question why his cheeks had tinged pink a considerable amount. "Is that so..." Germany barely murmured. Italy hummed a puzzled 'hmm' in his throat before hugging Germany again; he was confused with Germany's sudden shyness, it did not suit him at all. "That's the only reason I need to hug Germany!" Italy smiled fondly as Germany returned his hug with a shy fumble of his arms. "I just want Germany to know that I love him~" The curl in Italy's hair made his innocent face all the more delightful as he retracted from the hug and skipped home. "I'll save some pasta for you, okay?" the Italian yelled as he ran off.

Germany's grimace lessened a bit as he tried to understand the feeling. He shook his head, too tired to think upon it seriously, then yelled back to the running Italy, "Don't make a mess while you're eating!" He 'hmphed' amusingly to himself when Italy merely waved him off with an, "Okay~"


	3. Why is there another pillow, Germany?

**Author's Note:** The observation diary Germany kept on Italy inspired this one. Hetalia is so full of slash; I don't even have to pretend. That fact alone brings me endless joy. This obviously shows where I stand with the whole HRE (Holy Roman Empire) controversy. Haven't updated in a while due to school. I apologize, and thank you for all the reviews/favorites/alerts!

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The edges of his vision were hazy, and he distinctly remembered being at least five feet taller, but now he was so close to the ground with his small body, he found it impossible to believe this was really happening. "H-hey!" He hesitantly called out to the field of delicate flowers around him, hoping something would explain what was happening. There was a faint giggle as someone came up from behind him and took his hand.

"Are we playing in the fields today?" came the question of a high-pitched child's voice.

Instantly, his tiny legs became lead and anchored him in the half-as-tall-as-him field of flowers. The cute child beside him cocked their head, a large curl from under their large hat bouncing in unison."Are you okay? Holy..."

The voice grew distant and his vision started to glide back. His surroundings melted into black and suddenly there was a head gently pressing into his forearm on his real, grown-up body.

"Eh?" Germany blinked his eyes open. The first ghosting lights of dawn seeped in through his lightly curtained windows and alerted him to what just happened. Of course it was all a dream, and it was a reoccurring one, but he always ignored it. At the moment, he wanted to know just what was snuggling against his forearm and he groaned silently to himself as he down to see the top of Italy's head.

"Ahh..." Italy sighed contently as he snaked his arms around Germany's.

"What are you doing here?" Germany's question slopped together, his voice drowsy. Italy either heard him and decided to ignore it or didn't hear him at all.

He bunkered down onto Germany's arm and merely smiled as his nose gently touched Germany's skin.

"You have your own house and your own bed, go sleep there..." The cursed blush that always colored Germany's cheeks was present for the early morning show Italy always gave.

The brunette yawned cutely, now gazing up at Germany with fluttering eyes just bought out of a sleepy haze. "You have another pillow on your bed. It's for me, right? Ger~many~?" His sweet morning voice drone of the others name kept the reddish hue captive on Germany's cheeks, his own rosy blush waking up. "Besides," his mouth grew into a lazy grin, "you don't want to be lonely when you wake up, ne?"

Germany titled his head the other way, feeling Italy's inquisitive look settled on the blush on the bridge of his nose.

"And you always sleep on one side of the bed," Italy lifted up his body and brought the sheets with him as he gently settled on Germany's torso, staring into his companion's blue eyes. "That means I get to sleep on the other side!" With a genuine smile Italy had proclaimed this. Germany did nothing to refute the fact.

It wasn't _completely_ wrong.

The blonde smiled to himself with his eyebrows sternly furrowed, to Italy he looked just as he did everyday. And Italy thought Germany looked handsome everyday with his austere yet gentle look of elegance whenever his hair was slicked back, but it was mornings that Italy would thoroughly enjoy the grittiness Germany's bed hair gave him. He enjoyed seeing Germany, any time, anywhere, doing any thing.

"Ne, ne, Germany~! You can see the sun from here!" Italy naturally relaxed as he observed the increasing light. He used Germany's gently inhaling and exhaling chest as a pillow; the best kind there was. He smiled as Germany's somewhat quickly beating heart counted out the dawn light's time of rising. Sunlight caught in his merry brown eyes and they gleamed with a sincerity.

It was a love felt throughout his heart, even if his mind could not comprehend it -- that hopeless Italy.


	4. Why are you always around me, Italy?

**Author's Note:** It's so cute how Italy's just ALWAYS around Germany. _Hearts x 100_. Edit: Used an antonym of something. (How embarrassing!) Thanks for pointing it out~

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"I-Italy!" Germany's shout startled the pasta cooking Italy and caused him to knock over the jar of sauce he had just prepared. Being the clean-environment forcing man he was, Germany already began to wet a rag with hot water and scrubbing meticulously at the area.

Italy watched Germany clean the mess with a natural, clueless look before shrugging it off and continuing to stir the pasta in the pot of boiling water. "Germany~ I'm making pasta for lunch, do you want some?" To quell any argument from Germany, Italy took the wooden spatula that still sat inside the spilled pasta jar and pressed it to Germany's lips. "I made the sauce today! Do you like it?"

He had not opened his mouth, but a little bit of the sauce made its way into his firm lined mouth. Germany tasted the sauce with a nonchalant look of sternness on his face. "Ah, yeah, it taste good," he murmured. He threw the now pasta stained rag into the sink to be washed and fetched another one to wet down the counter to clear the surface of any residue. "But -- that's not what I'm here for."

"Ne? Then what are you here for, Germany~?" Italy was fixing sprigs of fresh basil onto the sauce-bathed pasta as he casually regarded Germany's insistence.

"Eh..." Why was it always so hard to talk about these kinds of things with Italy!? Either Germany would use a tone far too soft to be heard, or he would use a tone far too loud to sound kind. "Why do you spend so much time in my house...?" This time Germany went with a soft tone, and his blush was all the same but lacked the red intensity it would hold when he yelled his inquiries. He turned away from Italy's gaze; afraid he would stare into that abyss of slightly opened brown hues and not hear whatever Italy had to say.

The pasta's aroma wafted around the kitchen, embedding itself in Italy's clothes for the day and teasing Germany with its lovely scent. Italy inhaled deeply, letting out a pleased, "Mm~" before answering his ally's question with a simple easiness. "I like to be around you~ You make me feel happy, and grandpa Rome always told me to do things that make me happy, ve!" He smiled in his sheepish little way at Germany, oblivious to the flustered state of his ally's face.

"Happy?" That was a word Germany could not truly understand, but the adoring sparkle in Italy's eyes made him question if he had been 'happy' with Italy around. Sure, he went to bed grumpy, only to have Italy magically in his bed the next day, or if not that, making breakfast (namely a light pasta), or even appearing in his shower if not his bed. Was there ever a day he was not around Italy? Those days named themselves as lonely ones when he worked on papers needing to be tended to, but they would all ultimately end with his phone ringing and a wailing Italy on the other end of the line.

Everyday just seemed to have Italy in it.

A naive hum reverberated in Italy's throat as he changed the pitch of said hum to an affirmative one. "I like to spend my time with Germany~! You're my best friend, Germany." Italy's smile changed into a rare look of countenance. "Whom else would I spend my time with?"

Germany was caught in Italy's handsome brown eyes. Someone enjoyed _his_ company. **Italy** enjoyed his company.

Germany cleared his throat with a cough, but his blush still loomed over his cheeks. "Um, thanks for cooking lunch." He hovered over to Italy and leaned over hesitantly to kiss him on the cheek. Italy jumped from the sudden show of affection, and from Germany of all people.

"G-Germany...?" Italy rubbed the just kissed area of skin as if it had been in his imagination.

"I'm glad I make you feel happy. Italy, you make me feel..." Germany fumbled with his words, but soon quieted down as Italy stood on his toes to return the kiss, but being much shorter than Germany, could only press a kiss to his jaw.

"Now we can eat lunch~!" Italy seemed to have been whisked away from Germany by the beckoning plate of pasta.

With a sigh, Germany started to pull out the appropriate table wear for their lunch, a fading hue of red in his cheeks; why did that Italy have to be so come-and-go with his so-called Italian gestures?


	5. Do you remember our promise, Germany?

**Author's Note:** D'awww, you know what inspired this one! Haven't updated in a while. Sorry 'bout that. I am also **this** close to creating another ficlet/drabble series for proverbs of the world. I won't.

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Soccer ball tucked under his arm, Italy started his usual path towards Germany's house. It was familiar, always welcoming, and always had a similar outcome: seeing a half awake Germany murmuring groggily to himself about how early it was to be playing soccer.

Today was no exception to their ritualistic routine, and Germany was on time with his answering the door, but this time he held a freshly brewed cup of coffee. However, he managed to still be rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and dressed in his sleepwear. "Italy..." he droned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You do this every morning," Germany groaned, looking past a half dressed Italy (this was also part of the routine) and at the sky that had yet to brighten from its indigo cover. "After I keep telling you to stop coming to my house at this hour," he would have yelled in a scolding tone, but a yawn stealthily escaped before he could.

"It's a nice day today, Germany!" Italy honestly exclaimed. He turned the soccer ball round and round in his hands, looking at Germany's bed hair with a confounded expression. "Why aren't you ready yet?"

Germany drew a blank when he tried to answer. He looked down at his mug of coffee and wished it were of the alcoholic type before closing his eyes and inhaling the aroma steaming from the cup. "Come inside for a while." He stepped aside to let Italy pass and locked the door quietly.

Italy settled himself on Germany's couch awkwardly. Usually, Germany would let out a heavy sigh and tell him to wait, close the door, and then appear ready for a few games of early morning soccer. Today should have been like any other day, and the thought had Italy worried. "Ve, Germany... Are you okay?" He was perfectly alert, leaning in Germany's general direction to see if his eyes could find the 'problem'.

After pouring out his coffee into the sink (it was not as satisfying as _other_ drinks) Germany shook sleepy thoughts from his head and took a seat on the couch opposing Italy. His eyes looked distant, contemplating, and drew a softly ask question of worry from Italy.

"What's wrong?" Italy's tone had become somber. Germany's welfare, physically and mentally, was always very important to him. And while Germany was usually so astute and had an eternal austerity about him, the atmosphere was off. If something had happened, Italy wanted to know. He _had_ to know.

"Oh? It-- it's nothing." Germany really believed he could stop Italy's curiosity with that.

Italy stared at Germany with brown eyes that seemed to be peering into the soul. And every time it puzzled Germany.

"I'll always be here for you, Germany." Italy did not know what he was saying half the time, and he still did not know what he was saying then. The phrase was just always one that bought comfort to people and he thought if he had said it to Germany, perhaps it would settle the uneasiness his ally had. "Forever. We made a promise, remember?" These words started to become his, and they bought back the jovial, dense nature Italy had. He broke into a warm grin, "Ve, ve, ve! Remember, remember?" He left the soccer ball as he stood up from the couch and went over to Germany's side to sit next to him, wrapping a hand around Germany's to bring their pinkies together. "Please feel better, Germany! Then we can go play after you do!"

Germany could only silently look on as Italy went into the crescendo of hooking their pinkies together to finish off the morale boosting speech. The gesture was sweet, not that he expected any less from the heartwarming Italy. If it had been any one else, he would probably let himself get caught up in an embarrassed fumble to free his self of the situation, but it wasn't anyone else -- it was Italy. "I'm glad you're my friend," was whispered on a barely exhaled breath.

It wasn't heard, but Italy's wide smile made it seem like he would understand things even Germany himself couldn't comprehend.

_Chi trova un amico, trova un tesoro._

(Italian; Translation: He who finds a friend finds a treasure.)


	6. Why do you gesticulate, Italy?

Author's Note: Hey. This is an update to show I am still alive. School's almost over, whoo.

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How could one not notice the frenzy of hands waving every which way with some vague sense of direction whenever Italy spoke?

"_Ah, Germany! I heard this really cool story!" _Hands would gesture outward with uncontrolled tremors of excitement.

"_Germany," _those hands signaled with a twist, _"did you know pasta gets gummy if you soak it too long?" _A more pulled back gesture with his hands that underlined his new found knowledge took place.

Italy was known for being passionate, but Germany never thought it was so much a passion that it would embed itself in the limbs of a man to convey itself! Every story turned into a show of skilled hands tossed this way and that, emphasizing mundane details into marvelous tapestries. When Germany talked, he wondered if only his stern voice kept the energetic Italy's attention, because Italy's gesticulating surely kept his own.

"Then you handed me the contract and it was agreed we'd become the Triple Alliance!" Italy wrapped up his tales of the beginning of World War One with a very light tone, completely missing the point in the first place, but that did not stop him from telling his story. "I know you don't like to remember the past, but it was a really interesting time, ve…"

Germany sighed into his palm, eyes closed. He looked impassively at Italy, followed by the inquiry of, "Why do you do that when you talk?" The word for what Italy did escaped Germany's mind, but he tried to convey the idea via demonstration when Italy cocked his head. "That thing you do -- like this," Germany tried to have his hands play supporting cast to his words, but he merely accomplished looking like a bird hesitant in flight. "With your hands, why do you do that?"

Italy slowly pulled his hands forward so he could stare at them, wondering what his hands did that got Germany to ask such a thing. "I dunno what you're talking about, Germany. But speaking of hands, did you know that pizza makers--" Again, Italy used his hands to convey his story, causing Germany to suddenly jump up and point fervently at him.

"There, there! Like that!" As usual, the blonde country's excitement came off as angry to the other nation.

"L-like what? You're scaring me, Germany…" Italy started to cower in his usual fashion.

"_O mein Gott,_" Germany sighed. "Never mind." He started to relax once again in his chair as Italy continued on his story with a quick bounce back from his cowardly façade. Not once did the Italian notice how much his hands played up his words and Germany decided he would find a book to explain why Italians gesticulate instead.

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_O mein Gott_ = Oh my God


	7. Are we friends, Germany?

**Author's Note: **Trying to put a bit more 'history' into these things. I hope you understand what basically happened during WWII and the Cold War, but it's not crucial.

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The question had caught Germany off-guard. It was asked of him while he still had his mouth full of a home cooked dinner, courtesy of Italy.

Taking his cloth napkin in hand, Germany silently swallowed his bit of chicken fettuccini alfredo and dabbed at his mouth. Italy watched with curious eyes as Germany picked up his glass and sent ice cold water after his meal. Germany readied another spoonful of the dish.

"Germany, you didn't answer my question..." Italy had stopped eating completely, now intent on looking across the table at his fellow nation. "Are we friends?" The way Italy asked, in this careful, slowly structured way, made Germany's mind pause in between thoughts as he tried to string together what it meant to be 'friends'.

The Triple Alliance was not what Germany would have called a sign of friendship, and he would have rather forgotten those years to begin with. But now, he remembered, things were less tense and other nations tried their best not to hold anything against him. He wondered if what Italy thought was the meaning of 'friends'. Germany knew alliances didn't mean squat, as he recalled Russia had joined the Allies due to the backstabbing Germany himself had delivered - and Russia had not liked the Allies all that much. They weren't 'friends' back then. Then how could he forget the whole exchange between America and Russia after that...

"Are you okay?" Italy's voice inquired, bringing Germany's focus back. His chest hardly moved as he took in small, unnoticeable breaths. Germany's silence worried him that their relationship wasn't as sweet as it seemed.

"_Mi dispiace, Italia_" Germany muttered with his thick accent. They had set up many language schools within each others lands. Did that count as some sort of friendship? He quickly went over the week's events, thinking of cooking with the Italian, playing rounds of sport games with him, sharing a bed, simply sitting in the same room together and feeling at ease. There was never a book that said those exact things, but if they weren't friends they wouldn't have spent all that time together, right? "Yes."

"You're okay, then?" asked the nation now sitting on the edge of his seat.

"Uh, yes, I am okay, but I was saying yes to your first question," Germany answered solemnly. His face became that hardened facade of somber it had always been. But this time Italy did not react with cowardice to his company's appearance. Instead, a smile pulled the corner of his lips wide and his eyes nearly shut because he was so happy.

"That's great, ve!" Soon Italy became his adorable, happy-go-lucky self again. The smile stuck on his face urged Germany to smile, even if only a little, as well.

"I'll go get dessert," Germany chuckled, taking the dirty dishes with him. "Why did you have to ask? We spend so much time together..."

Here was when Italy's smile turned sheepish, "Well...friends can forgive each other, right?"

Germany's brows met in confusion. "Did you do something?"

"I ate the cake you made for dessert after our soccer game, I'm sorry, Germany! _Es tut mir Leid, Deutschland!_" He thought the use of Germany's native tongue would somehow appeal more to the friend he thought would be enraged.

All he heard was a sigh - as Italy had his head down - and the clatter of dishes into the sink. A few foot steps here and there, then the sound of a few plates being set in front of him, Italy dared a peep.

"I made this one just in case," was all Germany said as he sat down across from Italy. He cut the cake and passed a slice to Italy first, then took one for himself.

Italy was glad they were friends because of Germany's understanding.

Germany was glad they were friends because he could actually understand Italy.

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_Mi dispiace, Italia - I'm sorry, Italy_

_Es tut mir Leid, Deutschland - I'm sorry, Germany  
_


End file.
